


feels like a hug

by tsukemen (daikonjou)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Older Alphinaud Leveilleur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daikonjou/pseuds/tsukemen
Summary: It's been years, and Alphinaud still can't handle Ishgard's weather. At least the Warrior of Light is a good enough sport to share the warmth.





	feels like a hug

**Author's Note:**

> "older!Alphinaud/male miqo WoL fluff." written for a vaguely dead kink meme two years ago. handwaves the entirety of ShB due to the last patches of SB and ShB itself not having been out yet, etc.

Ishgard is, no matter the time of year, always _cold_.  


It's something that vexes Alphinaud occasionally--in the several years since the warrior of light had been adopted as a ward of House Fortemps, said warrior has taken to occasionally going "home" to Fortemps Manor and visiting with the Count. A formality, but a mannerly practice, Alphinaud supposes. It makes finding the warrior significantly easier if Alphinaud simply times his visits to coincide with the days the warrior is in residence at Fortemps Manor, as opposed to... well, literally anywhere in Eorzea. Or really, anywhere at all, Alphinaud might as well put a pin in a random spot on a map of the world for all the good it would do him to guess.  


Adventurers are free souls. It's only appropriate that the warrior of light himself is also cut from the same cloth.  


Still, even in the new cold-weather clothes Tataru had so kindly provided, Alphinaud's teeth are chattering by the time he makes it to Fortemps Manor. In hindsight, coming directly from Limsa Lominsa had not been the wisest idea, but Alisaie had wanted to check in with some Maelstrom contacts and he'd had a lively and productive discussion with some promising scholars of arcanima at the Arcanists' Guild. If the Sharlayans had not closed their borders, Alphinaud would have penned them some introductory letters personally.  


The parlor is, thankfully, much warmer than outside in the elements. Alphinaud's reminded of how very many layers Ishgardians seemed to wear constantly. He exhales over his hands to try to warm them faster.  


"Still not used to the cold?" a familiar voice asks, and Alphinaud has yet to break the habit of trying to look up when he's now taller than the warrior of light. The warrior smiles, ears flicking in the way that Alphinaud has come to read as poorly hidden amusement.  


"I do not wish to hear that from a man who foregoes any kind of coat in Coerthas," Alphinaud says, little reproach to his words.  


The warrior laughs outright this time. He looks comfortable, though hardly dressed for company, draped in a loose dressing robe over what appears to be an undershirt and a loose-fitting pair of linen trousers. (The robe looks like it was sewn for elezen, given that it's too long for the warrior and has no apparent slot to accommodate his tail.) "It's warmer in the room the Count's put me up in. Shall we?"  


\---  


At first glance, it's a very nice bedroom that Count Edmont de Fortemps has generously lent his ward. There's a sturdy four-poster bed, a well-used but elegant writing desk (upon which someone has placed a battered and worn journal, thick with added pages), an ancient armoire, and a couch that Alphinaud immediately discovers is so comfortable he's like to fall asleep on it. A brazier fills the room with cozy warmth.  


Then he notices the kite shield bearing the emblem of House Fortemps propped on the wall next to the weapon rack, which is otherwise bare of knightly arms. The warrior has set a white mage's cane on the rack, closest to the shield. "This was Lord Haurchefant's room," Alphinaud says, the thought spilling out his mouth in rather inelegant fashion.  


"I usually bring the shield the count presented me when I visit," the warrior says. "Seems appropriate, if he's put me up in Lord Haurchefant's old room."  


"How do you stand it?" Alphinaud asks. This is one of those things his myriad studies have not prepared him for.  


The warrior's ears flatten against his head. "The room is lovely, and he hasn't been in residence for quite some time now."  


Alphinaud shakes his head. "Not that. The... loss," he says, trailing off. It's been years, but Lord Haurchefant had been kind when he and the warrior had fled to Camp Dragonhead, seeking refuge. He would not have been able to weather such storms as followed without that kindness.  


As if reading Alphinaud's thoughts, the warrior of light picks up his trailing robe hems and makes his way over to sit down on the couch next to Alphinaud. Somewhere along the process of wrangling his oversized dressing robe and his tail, said tail ends up partially draped over Alphinaud's lap, where it flicks once and relaxes.  


It's very soft, as Alphinaud discovers. Silken.  


The warrior lets out a rumbling noise that could be a purr as Alphinaud strokes his tail.  


"I was given to believe it was ill-mannered to handle a miqo'te's tail like this," Alphinaud says, still running his hands over it.  


"Were you the kind of naughty child that went around pulling miqo'te tails?" the warrior asks, laughter in his voice. "It's a matter of consent, like other things."  


"Oh," Alphinaud says, pulling his hands away. "I didn't mean to--"  


"Why'd you stop?" the warrior asks. "I wouldn't have put my tail in your lap if I wasn't going to let you touch it."  


Gingerly, Alphinaud resumes stroking the warrior of light's tail.  


The warrior sighs and lays his head on Alphinaud's shoulder. "If you could do my ears next, that'd be great," he says, his contented rumble reverberating through Alphinaud's frame.  


"Will there be a reward for rendering my services?" Alphinaud asks. reaching a hand up to scritch one of the warrior's ears.  


"Mmm. I'll consider it," the warrior says, rumbling harder.  


-  


Amidst talk of the places the warrior has been since they last met and all of Alphinaud's own efforts, as leader of the Scions, the hour grows late. Alphinaud makes as if to leave. He'll get an inn room at the Forgotten Knight, see the warrior of light off in the morning, and resume tending to his own duties.  


... At least, that had been the plan, but the half-asleep miqo'te clinging to his shirt complicates leaving.  


"Mnn," the warrior says. "You can spend the night. Bed's got enough room for two."  


Alphinaud flushes to the tip of his ears. It's not like he hasn't thought about it, but--  


"Just to sleep," the warrior adds, nuzzling at Alphinaud's shoulder in a decidedly more sleepy than amorous manner.  


Eventually they manage to shuffle both of them over to the bed, and Alphinaud climbs under the covers after the warrior once he's divested himself of the extra layers he really oughtn't wear to sleep.  


"Tell me," he says, "truly, you never seemed bothered by the cold, not when I've seen you in the Coerthan snows wearing little more than you are now, so why the dressing robe?" It's a point of curiosity, since the warrior still hasn't taken it off, despite how it trailed on the floor and required some arranging when he climbed into bed.  


"Feels like a hug," the warrior murmurs, and abruptly rolls over to wrap Alphinaud up in it too. Alphinaud thinks for a moment he's like to blush so hard something will burst into flame--it's rare that he's pressed up so close against the warrior's form, all lithe muscle. Once he can actually think again, though, he registers that it's warm beneath the bedclothes, but even warmer encircled by the warrior's arms and the fabric of the dressing robe.  


"Indeed," Alphinaud says, at last, far too comfortable to summon more words.  


"G'night, Alphinaud," the warrior says, pressing a kiss made clumsy with impending sleep to Alphinaud's brow.  


\--  


It was quite a good night. Ishgard is always cold, but where the warrior of light is, so too follows warmth.  


It only seems natural, Alphinaud thinks.


End file.
